


Secure

by appending_fic



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Image, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Negotiation, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 20:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17230964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: Peter Quill's in pain, and somehow it's fallen to Rocket to make him feel better. The offer of a therapeutic massage involves neither an actual massage, or anything more exciting, unless Pete crying on his bed is 'more exciting'.





	Secure

Rocket paused as he passed into the galley. Pete was sprawled on the table, which meant Rocket could pretend he hadn’t seen him or ask what was wrong. And even a year ago he might have left, but.

Almost losing people made it harder to pretend they didn’t mean anything to you.

Rocket sighed and swung up into a chair next to Pete.

“Hey, Starlord, you alive?”

“No,” Pete grunted. “I died. This is my ghost talking to you.”

Rocket poked Pete hard in the side. “You _aren’t_. Come on, what’s up?”

“It’s nothing. Just my back.”

“You didn’t get shot and forget to mention it, did you?” Rocket groaned. “Because the last hospital kept insinuating we were all abusing you when we dragged you in with a three-day old stab wound.”

Pete turned his head to Rocket, and he at least had the decency to look embarrassed, though he was smiling a little, the jerk.

“I’m just getting too old to crawl around in exhaust vents,” he replied with a sideways shrug. “Those of us who aren’t built to be fun-sized get sort of cramped in places like that.”

Rocket huffed. “Well, why didn’t you say? Head back to your room, I’ll do something about that?”

“Something?” Pete sat up, eyes narrow, a little suspicious. “What’s ‘something’?”

Rocket waved a hand at Pete. “I picked up some pretty amazing massage techniques couple of years ago.”

“Uh...huh.”

“What?” Rocket snapped. Pete still looked suspicious, which was understandable when he had no idea what Rocket was planning, but hurt when Rocket was offering to spend his valuable time making Pete feel better. “When have I ever claimed to be great at something I wasn’t, huh?”

Pete waved a hand at Rocket. “I just mean, with the claws-“

“When have I ever scratched you up?”

“Last week?”

“ _By accident_ ,” Rocket clarified, because he wasn’t going to apologize for something Pete had deserved. When Pete didn’t respond, Rocket grinned at him, triumphant. “So come on, get your ass back in your room and prepare to have your world _rocked_ , Baby Boo.”

Pete gave Rocket a weak smile, but clambered to his feet, obeying, as any right-thinking person would getting a prime offer like this.

Rocket trailed Pete back to his room, taking a moment for an assessing once-over. And yeah, Pete was moving stiff, awkward; if they’d gone into a firefight like this, someone could have gotten killed ( _again_ ).

Once they were in Pete’s room, door shut behind them, Rocket waved at Pete’s shirt.

“Alright, take it off.”

“What?” Pete’s gaze was a little wild at the suggestion.

“Your shirt. Off. Can’t fix your flarking muscles if I can’t see them.”

Pete grimaced, jaw twitching, and Rocket had never seen someone fight so hard against getting a quality massage.

“Look, you don’t want the massage, I’m outta here. But get some flarking painkillers, a goddarm hot bath before your sucky back gets us all killed.”

Pete’s jaw twitched again, but he gave a huff and pulled his shirt off, throwing it at Rocket as he dropped face-down on his bed.

“M fine,” he muttered, “just get on with it.”

“Jeez, you don’t hurry something like this, Baby Boo. You _savor_ it. Take time to do it right.”

“It’s a massage, Rocket, not sex.”

And wasn’t _that_ a thought, Pete taking the time to do that right. Rocket shook that off before he could follow the thought further. Instead he climbed up onto Pete’s bed, assessed the damage. There weren’t as many scars as Rocket’s, but it was hard to match Rocket’s brand of broken. But the life of a pirate, thief, and part-time savior of the galaxy was hard on anyone.

So there was a lot to work with.

Rocket shrugged and stepped up on Pete’s back, minding his claws, only for Pete to twist around, dislodging him and nearly sending him off the bed.

“What are you _doing_?”

Rocket scrambled to his feet and poked Pete’s nose with the tip of a claw. “Us ‘fun-sized’ folk can’t exactly reach your fat ass without climbing up there; I thought that would be obvious.”

Pete’s expression hardened, surprise giving way to a scowl, teeth almost bared. He shoved Rocket back, not enough to knock Rocket on his ass, but enough to make it clear Rocket was not welcome near him right now.

“I think you should go.”

Rocket jumped down to the floor, but paused before storming out, because.

Well, he’d been pushing and bullying Pete, because that’s what he _did_ , and Pete never seemed to care, but.

Almost losing people made you think, and one thing it’d made Rocket think was he couldn’t afford to assume he’d always have time for the people he cared about to cool down, go back to the way things should be.

Flark.

He was gonna have to talk about Pete’s feelings.

He turned back to the bed, where Pete had pulled his blanket over his mostly-clothed form.

“Are you seriously hiding under your blankets?”

“I told you to _leave_ , Rocket.”

He really wished Mantis were here; even without meaning to, she picked up on what was bothering people. “Come on, Pete. You were fine a minute ago-“

“I was not _fine_. I was in pain because I’m out of shape, fat, exhausted, and I’m sorry, but that’s just what you’re stuck with.”

And this wasn't Pete's usual banter - not the back and forth of insults and self-deprecation that concealed the affection they had between them. It was...something painful. Something that hurt, that Pete had been trying to hide.

And like Pete's back, something Rocket, by virtue of noticing it, was going to have to fix.

Rocket clambered up next to Pete, settling a handspan away, because Pete was weird and touchy and flark, Rocket was probably the worst person to be doing this, but he was _here_ , and he was pretty sure if he left it, Pete would pretend nothing had happened. Pete was still huddled under his blanket, but he at least wasn't yelling at Rocket anymore.

"So, uh. Is this a mid-life crisis or something?"

"God, I don't want to talk about this, Rocket."

"Well, neither do I, but when my friend's hiding under a blanket like he's _six_ , something is clearly wrong, and leaving that sort of thing alone isn't cool!"

Pete snorted, and the sound - dismissive, curt, sent a hitch in Rocket's chest. "Pete?"

"Look, I know you want to make me, you know, feel better, but-" The blanket around Pete shifted, in something like a shrug. "It's not gonna change anything."

"Change _what_?" Rocket demanded. "Look, if I don't get an answer, I'm never going to shut up about this. On the bridge, in the kitchen, in your ear when you're trying to concentrate-"

"I'm worn out, out of shape, and have a fat ass!" Pete snapped. "I'm not a fucking _pirate angel_!"

"What?" Pete had settled down, smaller, more hunched, while Rocket tried to figure out what Pete was bitching about. Obviously, he was feeling down about getting older, breaking down, but the 'pirate angel' comment was...confusing. "Need a flarking map, here, Baby Boo, because I'm lost-"

"I'm sorry I'm not _Thor_!" Pete snapped, turning fast enough he let the blanket fall. There was a shine to his eyes that suggested he was on the edge of tears, and his hands were fisted at his sides, tight, white. "That instead of gallivanting around the galaxy with some - perfect specimen of manhood, you're - stuck with…" 

He shrugged and let his gaze fall away from Rocket, but Rocket didn't need him to finish to know what Pete meant.

Where Pete had gotten the idea they would rather someone else be part of the crew than him. Rocket's stomach twisted, guilty, as he glanced down at his paws. "Pete, I-"

"Forget about it," Pete muttered. "It's stupid. I just-"

"It's not stupid, Pete. We-" Rocket winced at the memory, more vague, he was certain, than Pete's, of what they'd said when faced with a real-life Asgardian in their ship. "We clearly hit a nerve, making fun of, I guess, your weight."

"It's not that." Pete huffed, tugging his legs up onto his bed, hugging his arms around them. "I could care less if you think I'm _fat_." The quaver in Peter's voice on that word suggested otherwise, but this was...probably not the time for color commentary. "I just…" A hand waved vaguely, and Pete fell silent, unable or unwilling to explain.

But Rocket could imagine where that thought was going, because it wasn't so far off from the sorts of things Rocket thought in his darker days. "Pete, you know we - I…" Rocket fumbled, scratched at his leg as he searched for the right words. "You're a part of the team. Probably the reason we've _got_ a team. And I…" Rocket rubbed at his eyes as they blurred, fighting to keep from actually _crying_ while he was trying to comfort Pete. "I followed Thor to Nidavellir for weapons, but I went a hell of a lot farther to get you back." He lifted his head to meet Pete's gaze. "Any of us'd do the same, Pete."

"Sure, but if it came down to me and - Gamora-"

"It'd be you every time, Baby Boo." Pete jerked, a little, pulling back, and Rocket realized his mistake. "I mean, Gamora can take care of herself; _you_ , though-"

"You _like_ me," Pete said, voice still a little shaky, but with a lilting edge. "I'm your _favorite_."

"Didn't say I'd pick you over Mantis, or _Drax_." Rocket huffed, folding his arms over his chest. "'Sides-"

"I'd pick you every time, too."

Rocket had been spaced enough to know what it like to be without air, to be unable to draw breath. This wasn't anything like it, but he _did_ stop breathing for a moment at Pete's _totally unwarranted_ declaration. "W - what the - _hell_ , Pete? I don't need you _lying_ to me when I'm being all - open and vulnerable and shit!"

"I'm not lying."

"What about - Gamora, huh? With what you two got going on?"

"Come on, nothing's-" Pete scratched at his cheek. "Look, whatever's gone on or maybe could have happened, it's - not. And, well, with _you_ , at least, I always know where I stand." He ducked down close, and the little shit was _grinning_ , like he hadn't been ready to cry five minutes ago. "Because I'm you're _favorite_."

"Sh - shut up! You just said I'm _your_ favorite, too!"

Pete shrugged. "And? I'm not the one who pretends he doesn't have feelings."

"I've _got_ feelings!" Rocket retorted. "And I don't sit up in my room sulking about them, either. Now come on, let's get your flarking back fixed."

"Yeah, sure," Pete muttered, rolling onto his stomach, as if Rocket weren't perfectly capable of seeing he was still upset.

But it was possible this required a...subtle touch. So Rocket clambered back up to Pete's back and began rolling his knuckles against the space between Pete's shoulders.

"You know, still doesn't explain you flipping out when I called you fat," Rocket said.

"Can we not talk about this?" Pete asked into his mattress. "I get it, you all like me, you're not going anywhere-"

"Nuh-uh, _you_ turned massage hour into a therapy session, and I'm not gonna half-ass that. _Spill_."

"It's stupid, and it's not important."

"I don't know - something upsetting my _favorite member of the crew_ seems pretty important."

Pete huffed. It might have been a laugh, or a sigh; it was hard to tell with his back to Rocket. "It's _stupid_."

"In case you haven't noticed, a lot of shit that happens around here is stupid. Doesn't mean I don't _care_ about it."

Pete grumbled beneath Rocket. "Okay. But seriously - don't laugh. Don't tell _anyone_ , okay?"

"Yeah, sure - what's that thing you got - scout's honor."

"Okay. I. Look, when you all met Thor, you were - all _drooling_ over him."

"Yeah? Are you saying you _weren't_?"

Pete shrugged. "Not my type."

"Thor is _everybody's_ type!"

"I could tell."

And that voice, shaky, a little bitter - _defensive_ \- like Pete'd been when they found Thor, struck Rocket suddenly. He looked down at Pete, who didn't look nearly as relaxed as someone getting a massage _and_ therapy from a half-trained genetic abomination should be. He was tense, of course, shoulders hunched, and Rocket…

Rocket was going to have to reveal something he had hoped he could take to the grave.

"Look, Pete, _sure_ , if given a chance, I'd climb Thor like a tree. But...when I first met you, I - I'd've - well, I didn't tell the other inmates I owned your ass for _nothing_."

Somehow, Pete tensed _more_ , and Rocket realized how skeevy it would be, hearing a guy saying like that while perched on your back. "Uh."

"Come on, that was in - the _prime_ of my life. You said I got - _tubby_ \- since then."

And this was too much - going back and forth about Pete's flarking self-esteem, who wanted to climb who like a tree, whatever thing _wasn't_ happening with Gamora. So Rocket, patience finally worn thin, snapped, "I would've tapped that ass when it was just attached to a pretty face; that hasn't _changed_ just because you put on a few flarking pounds!"

In the silence that followed, Rocket held perfectly still, trying to find the best escape route. Maybe he could wait until Pete forgot Rocket was up there and make a run for it.

"... _Really_?"

"You think I embarrass myself like this for fun? _Yes_ , I thought you were hot back then, and, what, with getting to know you and all…"

"Aww, you _like_ like me!" Rocket dove to avoid being crushed as Pete rolled over on the bed, but not fast enough to avoid being caught in a _hug_.

Rocket squirmed against the hold. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Of course I like you - I already said-"

"You wanna _kiss_ me-"

"How do you get that from me saying I'd happily pound you into your mattress? Ow, hey - _off_!" Pete let go, mercifully, giving Rocket an opportunity to get some distance, straighten out his fur, avoid looking Pete in the _eyes_ for a little while. Because he'd been certain letting this secret get out would make things awkward, but instead Pete was acting _giddy_. He was probably hysterical, worked up over thinking he wasn't _attractive_ , making Rocket's declaration more welcome than the attraction of a freak should have been.

"We should do it."

" _What_?"

Rocket _had_ to look at Pete, because he was out of his flarking mind, joking, or _something_. But no, there he was, watching Rocket with a gentle smile on those lips (Rocket had had a few dreams about those lips, dreams called to mind by the fact Pete had just _propositioned_ him). Catching Rocket's eye, Pete flushed, and his smile faltered. 

"I don't mean just - we _could_ , but I think the whole Gamora thing shows it's complicated when we're colleagues - _friends_."

The mention of Gamora was a shock; Rocket's ears and tail fell in an instant, tail curling around his leg, stupid animal instincts built into the body of a sentient. "Yeah, thanks but no, Baby Boo. Not gonna help you pass the time until Gamora and you figure your shit out."

"What? Is that what you think is going on here?"

"You wouldn't be suggesting it if you were with her-"

"Yeah, because I'm not into, _sharing_ , if I actually want like, a _thing_."

"A… _thing_."

"Like, a _relationship_."

"Well, yeah, you wanna get with Gamora, you want a _relationship_."

"Gamora and I aren't happening, Rocket. I'm suggesting-"

"No, thanks. I'm not interested in being your - consolation prize, Baby Boo."

"What do you - _consolation prize_?"

"You wouldn't suggest - _whatever_ \- with me if you were with her."

"I wouldn't want to get with _her_ if I were with _you_ , either! It's not a competition, Rocket! It's - you're…" Pete waved vaguely to his side, huffing. "I've had a _lot_ of options, but that doesn't mean I don't really want the option in front of me. I mean, I can't say it was lust at first sight like you can-"

"You wanna keep your fingers, you can shut up about that, Quill."

"But it's not like I didn't _notice_ you. Once I realized you weren't as much of a dick as you seemed, I could - see the appeal." Rocket wanted to snort at Pete's stutter, as if he weren't the one suggesting the two of them…

He couldn't imagine Pete being this bashful about _sex_ ; the only time he acted like this was-

"Are you _in love with me_ , Quill?"

"What? _No_! Just because you're my friend-"

"Your _favorite_ ," Rocket interjected, because the weird little smile that flicked across Pete's lips when Rocket said that sent his stomach fluttering.

"My _best friend_ , probably," Pete continued, which _fuck_ , Rocket had not considered that to be what being Pete's _favorite_ meant; his chest was stuttering against his chest as Pete kept talking, "and I think you're, you know, _hot_ , doesn't mean I'm _in love_ with you. I haven't been sitting around pining, you know?"

He'd pined after Gamora, but Rocket tried to ignore that thought, because Pete had told him this wasn't about not having Gamora. It was about…

"I _love_ you, you know, I love _all_ you guys. But that doesn't-"

"Doesn't mean the same thing," Rocket grumbled.

"Right, but…" Pete shrugged. "I figure maybe, two guys who like each other, are - _attracted_ to each other, got good chemistry, like a - _spark_ \- maybe that's something worth giving a shot."

Rocket opened his mouth, but found no words coming. He opened it again, swallowed, and tried again, because this _wasn't_ a declaration of love, but...it didn't sound like a proposition for a fling, or even an - _arrangement_. It sounded like a… _thing_.

"When you say 'something', you aren't talking about a marathon screw, are you?"

Pete's neck and cheeks flushed all at once. "I'm not saying we _can't_ , just - it could be _good_ , you know? You and me, not just sex, but-"

A _thing_.

"I don't know. Sounds like you'd mostly be getting phenomenal sex and massages out of this - what would I be getting?" Rocket stretched out a little, fighting down a smirk when he saw Pete's gaze darting to Rocket's stomach. He hadn't been - doubting, exactly - but the confirmation there was something there Pete liked was buoying.

Pete jerked his head away from Rocket's torso, cheeks still a little pink, but he was...almost smiling. "Well first of all, how about you don't pretend that 'phenomenal sex' is just a favor you'd be doing me? Because I don't think you were planning to do me any favors when you wanted to tap this ass the day we met."

"Oh, god, I will date you if you will just _shut up_ about that!"

Pete shook his head. "No way. I am going to bring this up for the rest of our lives; our _grandchildren_ will hear about this."

"Still haven't said yes, Baby Boo."

Pete snorted and poked Rocket's shoulder - gentle, but a pointed demonstration that Pete was already closer to Rocket than most other people he'd had - well, relations with. "You wouldn't ask me to convince you if you didn't want it."

Which - setting aside whether it was _true_ , Rocket hadn't known a single sentient who felt comfortable enough with him to tell him they knew how he _thought_. It at once made him feel exposed, examined, and - _warm_.

"Don't flarking need to call me out like that, Baby Boo," Rocket muttered, because he wasn't going to let Pete _win_ here.

"Hey." Pete settled back on the bed, smile more open, eyes wide, gaze steady. "I wanna try this. If you want it - why shouldn't we?"

Rocket took a deep breath. There was a promise in trying this - things that had been a part of Rocket's life since they became a family, but _more_. Support, affectionate touch, having someone _caring_ for him (plus, and he did not want to discount this, he was probably never going to get a chance to have sex with Pete if he passed this up).

So did he want it? Of course.

"If you want a thing, this is gonna be a _thing_ ," Rocket replied.

"Dates, dinner, dancing?" Pete quipped, and Rocket let that sit, for a moment, trying to figure out if it was a reference to some Terran thing.

Once he was pretty sure it wasn't, he shrugged. "A _thing_."

"Well, a _thing_ ," Pete agreed. "I can do that. Any other requests?"

"Yeah, I promised you a flarking massage, and I am _not_ gonna be the sort of - sentient you've got a thing with - who's gonna leave you hanging. Roll over."

Pete didn't comment on Rocket's stutter, perhaps himself a little uncomfortable with naming exactly what the...thing they wanted was. Instead he lay back down on his stomach, and Rocket wasn't certain if it was his imagination, but Pete _seemed_ more relaxed than he had when Rocket had first started.

It didn't mean Rocket spent any less time or effort on it. They _did_ need Pete in good condition. But also, this _thing_ came with a little more leave to touch, to enjoy the experience of Pete slowly relaxing under his ministrations.

It wasn't a beginning, really; this massage had been in the works before Rocket and Pete had had it out. But it was promising, nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Go_LuckyFanfics for suggesting the nominal plot to this. The themes, however, are from one of the parts of Infinity War that I hated the most. So I explored it by Peter and Rocket being angsty at each other, as usual.


End file.
